Chapter Thirteen

Ground Zero

"And I thought it would just crumble to dust..."

Should have known better. Clara felt like having a drink, but she was at work, and it just so happened she'd learned the news from her students today.

"Ms. Schmidt, did you hear about that pizza place over in Hurricane? I used to go there as a kid, but then that crazy crap happened that my mom and dad decided they couldn't take chances with my safety. Said the reasons that place was ongoing until that Afton jerk was kicked out was because of tourists and vacationers, not the townspeople." And that didn't surprise her in the slightest. She had a damned good feeling those people most likely hadn't heard the stories if they visited that accursed place.

Clara had to pretend she knew nothing. "No, what is it?"

One of the boys, aged sixteen, piped up. "My old man heard it on the news, but by the looks of it, not everyone's got the gist yet. They're that desperate to remain open and relevant now that the old man who killed those kids is out of the picture, but monsters like that don't go away, like the boogeyman. One of my friends..." His face fell. "...might have lost her aunt to that place after applying for the night guard position, but the damned company wrote it off as a simple disappearance, and her family never got closure. Happened last year."

Disappearances at the pizzeria...

She knew she shouldn't dwell on this horror from the past she, Mike, and Henry left behind, but an invisible thread had latched on and tugged at her, keeping her in place. That and a terrible feeling even though they were far away from it all. It made her think of certain aspects aside from the children who went missing and Charlie...too many gruesome coincidences...

And so later that night, she and Henry sat together. Michael and Kaleia had an apartment near the hospital now, so she and her lover could have more time together than they used to. She recapped everything to him aside from him announcing his decision to retire from the work field, or would he regret it later? He had migrated to a simple repairman for just about anything in town, then settled in at the Kai family auto shop as its junior manager in a short period of time, so Clara believed he was having one of those moments that would pass since he was still young enough and fit to keep going until his body had enough.

"...night guards disappearing," Henry stated blankly after absorbing it all. Clara nodded grimly.

"Something is happening, and no doubt it's being covered up." Since she wouldn't put it past the new management after William, because that was how big corporations worked. Mason would agree with her in that he was glad he kept his place here at home.

Henry reached up to take his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Damn it. I'm not surprised. This isn't good, and I have a feeling. I had it before, but as you know, I never looked back after Charlie, Elizabeth, and those kids. I did my best to not think about it, but I still regret not looking into it."

This was the first time she heard it that way, but before she could ask anything else, the doorbell was rung. Frowning, Clara got up to answer it. "Oh, I wasn't aware of this," she said to the young, auburn-haired postman who had the approximately two-by-four-foot-long package with the address and Henry's name written on...scribbled by a clear yet clumsy hand. But there was no sender, which made the blood in her arms drain.

"Just sign here, ma'am, if he's not there," the boy suggested with a tired smile, telling her how hard he worked, but did he wish he had something better and was just starting somewhere?

Clara took the clipboard, but before she could do anything. he popped up beside her, making her jump. She would have dropped it if Henry hadn't been there. "I'll take it from here, son," he said with a forced smile, but the worry was in his eyes. He was scared, too.

When the young man was gone, she put the mysterious thing down on the coffee table and set about gently opening the wrappings at one end, in case they could give it away to whoever else. When she was done, she took out the box with one hand on the enclosed lid and revealed it to be simple white cardboard bigger than shoe boxes.

Henry's eyes widened in horror. "My God!" He reached for the lid with both shaky hands. "It can't...be..."

Clara gasped in shock at the creepy thing exposed after the lid was lifted. The thing surrounded by black, its face reminiscent of an old theatre mask with both cheeks painted with simple red dots and streaking downward from the eyes with purple streaks, and its mouth a gaping, toothless smile, giving it a bizarre expression in between joy and sorrow. Henry pulled it out by the shoulders and revealed long, spidery fingers numbered to three on each hand, and all four limbs striped white and black; the torso was finished with three buttons in a vertical line.

"The marionette I made for Charlie, for security at the Fredbear Diner...found on her body when she was murdered."

~o~

He was so damned glad to be home.

Kaleia was still at the hospital, and those long hours lately were wearing her thin. He had it easy compared to her, making him feel a little guilty. They knew this would happen, but still.

They weren't starting a family anytime soon, so this was all they could afford with each other, but at the same time, Michael was content with what they had. So much that he just let his wife do much of the decorating, as in picking the items out and leaving HIM to do the decorating when this was the woman's hobby - shit, too sexist and old-fashioned. But Mom did say that was true with some women today.

When he stepped inside this one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment upstairs, there was an all-white kitchen, save for the forest green counters and backsplash. That, and the cozy-as-hell living area with the ultra-soft, burgundy, three-seated sofa and the love chair L-shaping around the television atop the oak mission-style stand which was filled with a bunch of VHS and books; the coffee table was round, also topped with oak and centered with a miniature spun glass-and-metal fountain, vibrant with green, blue, red, and gold in the hummingbird drinking from one of the water flowers. In the far corner of the sofa was a woven basket with a fake but real-looking palm branch plant. Above the sofa was a large silver frame embossed with some gems and hearts and bearing different-sized photographs like Kaleia's graduation, the moment they showed off Clara's ring when he proposed, a couple of their baby pictures their families embarrassed them with, a luau from last summer right after the wedding with everyone together and a professional photographer had been hired to take the shot, but at the center were Michael's favorite moments: their second husband and wife kiss after the ceremony while she was still in her mother's blue dress, and then the cutting of the cake where she mashed his face with it.

At the base of the fireplace were navy blue tiles reminiscent of the darkest depths of the ocean, making it the contrast of flames and water. And the oak in the furniture came into play thanks to the trimming of the mantle and the mirror above the fire spot. Placed there were several crystal balls preserving a rose, hibiscus, succulent, and snowy Queen Anne's lace; at the center was a featureless, carved figure of a dancing couple with some rhinestones in place, similar to Russian pieces.

Michael plopped right onto the sofa after kicking off his boots and leaving them near the front door. God, he wanted to go to sleep now, but the wife had it harder and would need dinner ready, but they had leftover Chinese from yesterday that was still good.

However, before he could open the fridge door, a strange feeling hit him with the suddenness of a powerful storm picking up. He couldn't describe it, but it made him blink even though he was sure he wasn't getting a headache or a serious migraine. Michael furrowed his brows and kept them that way until he was sure the sensation was gone. Didn't stop what was left of the tingling down his spine.

What the hell was that?

~o~

Charlie...

He'd begun to process and cope with his daughter's loss, as she had with Evan and Lizzie, but you never truly got over the loss of a child. Now that this thing from the location that started it all had mysteriously shown up on their doorstep...the shadows and tears were coming back, along with Henry's shaking and collapsing onto the sofa after taking out the puppet. He was a mess again, broken down by the tremendous agony returned with a vengeance.

"Oh, Henry," Clara gasped, taking the thing from his arms, only to find out he had clutched it to his heart as if his very life depended on it. She didn't blame him in the slightest and silently cursed William with or without evidence.

It begged why now, and who would send this tie to the past they thought they'd left behind.

He'd lost his appetite but did manage a little bit of a ham and cheese sandwich to avoid starvation, and drank water to give the right amount of hydration, though he kept it down until it was time to go to sleep. The nerves had acted up as soon as it was dark enough. Her stomach was still rolling; they both could use the wine for the nerves. A little bit of alcohol never hurt anyone, and it wasn't like they did that every night or relied on it a hundred percent. Not anymore.

There was another thing they could do together if it meant making Henry feel a little better, but he might not be in the mood. She grabbed her shimmery, silky robe trimmed with a southwestern zig-zag pattern against the sandy backdrop. Beneath it was a smooth black brassiere and matching slimming high-waisted, mid-thigh shorts to give herself the shape that a king would die for. She was still curvy and desirable, not narcissistic, but also wasn't what she used to be after having three kids despite keeping in shape. Clara walked back into Henry's room, seeing him sprawled across the bright red, wave-patterned bedspread, having enough awareness to turn on the textured glass lamp to his right; everywhere else, there wasn't much to look at since Henry never cared much about interior design like robotics, so Clara had done the work of making sure nothing was too feminine for his tastes, but he deserved all the loving comfort in the world. He had his work desk beside the window, along with a wall sign above the bed, saying in ombré-dyed rainbow hues "Every time you find comedy in a bad time, you are the winner", and on the wall at the bed's end was a great wood and metal canvas of golden, red, and teal birds on autumn-like branches above a shelved case filled with books.

The old marionette was no longer in his arms; he'd left it out in the living room for now because he needed a good night's sleep. She decided it was for the best. After all, what was the worst that could happen?

"I got something to make you...feel better, Henry," Clara purred, closing the door behind her and keeping her back to it while undoing the sash and pulling it apart to show her sleek ensemble to his wide eyes reddened from crying.

"Clara..."

"I know you're likely not in the mood after...earlier..." Clara approached the bed, going around to the left until she was in front of him, and shrugging off the robe. It landed on the floor softly, louder than a leaf hitting the grass. "...but do you want me to make you feel a little better?"

Henry straightened himself up, eyes looking her up and down before smirking. "Goddamn. Stop talking and get over here, woman," he teased with a grunt, wasting no time reaching for his navy blue pajama pants, pushing those and his underwear down, letting her see his big boy and pubic stubble. She'd be damned if she said he wasn't as big as William had been. With her ex-husband, the size didn't matter, but what you did with it. "Christ, after today, I thought I wouldn't be in the mood for this. You know how to make everything better," Henry told her, lower half fully bare for her, the nightshirt still on, but that was just fine. She confidently yanked everything off in no time, and he could just show half. Whatever made him better.

Settling down over his lap, not yet connecting, Henry's palm ran over the exposure of her spine, making her just a little wetter than before. Her moisture levels were getting to lesser proportions than they used to be when she was a younger woman, but that didn't stop the exciting tingles. His calloused palm rested just on the horizontal cleft where her left buttock and thigh joined, bringing her closer as they did the lip dance, lower bodies gyrating before patience was lost and they got right to the best part.

God, as soon as she took him in beneath the blankets and comforter, it still felt so GOOD. The Lord knew they both needed this. Clara's womanly dampness started to come in more streams; just because it was less didn't mean zero. Not yet. Her nails went into Henry's hips just as his fingers dug into her back and her shoulders, changing whenever the friction required more. This kind of passion didn't start hot and heavy like it had been with William. It started after everything had been taken from them, and all they had was Michael and each other. It didn't go on for prolonged periods, just coming up when one of them was in the mood, proving successful and beneficial. The energy rushed like a mighty river, going on and on until it reached its end and plunged off into a beautiful waterfall.

A shower was out of the question, not even to wash away the traces of Henry down her thighs and in the unshaved hair between her legs. And no worries about poor Mikey even though he was a grown man. He's probably still enjoying the long honeymoon stage with Kaleia. Clara laughed to herself; a mother sometimes couldn't help thinking about her adult baby boy with the woman he loved. She'd been like that, too.

No wine, after all. According to her lover, she was the finest to him. Clara's heart swelled as she cuddled up to Henry for the remainder of the night...

...but at some point during the witching hours, they were awoken.

First, the noises were just thumps, something to shrug off, because that was nothing new. Generally, they were minor -

BANG!

And that was probably on one of the walls outside. Now it was serious business. She'd been jolted out of heavenly stupor to the random, normal soft sounds only for this one to get both her and Henry aware. "Jesus Christ, what the devil?!" Clara shouted, pulling the blanket to her chest, dropping it to get out of bed, go around, and pick up her robe to cover up. Henry followed, snatching his pants and joining her right after getting his gun.

He uncocked it and checked the ammo to make sure the bullets were in. The barrels were all filled, so all was good to go. "Okay, if it's a burglar, they get a warning shot," he announced under his breath, "but if it's Mike -" He shook his head with a snort. "- kid just had to wind up being loud coming in at this time of night." Mikey surprising them with a late-night visit without a phone call? That didn't make sense at all; it was like him to give the heads-up first. It might as well be someone else breaking and entering.

Clara decided she needed a weapon of her own. No one had to die tonight, and they didn't need the police here. Out of the bedroom, she rushed to hers and returned to Henry in no time with her taser that she kept in her nightstand drawer. Pushing the button, the blue electrical circuits crackled to life for a second before going out. Grinning like the devil, Clara stepped behind Henry as he took point.

Once she shocked whoever it was in the balls, assuming it would be a man or a second person with, Henry would call the police.

Henry kept the gun and flashlight pointed in the opposite directions after rounding each corner, seeing nothing out of place, but every window Clara checked showed no signs of lock picking, and the door was still locked, unless the intruder or intruders made sure...no, they would have to be quick unless their house was the first gig.

But when they reached the living area again, Henry gasped. "Clara, look! The coffee table!"

She followed the direction of the flashlight beam, slapping her free hand over her mouth in horror. The box with the puppet from the old diner...it was opened halfway, the other end touching the table surface. Its contents were gone.

Someone had to have taken it, yet the house showed no burglary hints. Unless...

"Daddy."

"What the hell?!" Henry shouted, raising the light in the same direction, higher to the source of the strange, whispery voice that broke the dark silence. And what he saw with her made him cry out and then scream in unison.

There was the marionette, floating in mid-air sans strings, arms outstretched as if ready for an embrace, remaining there for a bit and unfazed even as Henry shouted, "Don't move, or I'll shoot!"

Clara found herself looking closer at the thing's face, specifically at the eyes. There were two starry pinpricks in the centers that hadn't been there before. It's alive! I know I'm not dreaming because we're both seeing this. But how?!

The puppet didn't blink or omit any emotion other than the permanent broad, toothless smile accompanied by the purple tear streaks down its cheeks. It then defied Henry's order by floating towards them faster than the first bullet could touch any part of it. Clara rushed forward with the taser, prepared to shock it when its next words caused her to halt and Henry to choke, nearly dropping the handgun and accidentally setting it off in the house, breaking one of the cherished properties.

"It's me...Daddy, Auntie Clara."

They said the word simultaneously, horrified and wondering how this was possible.

"CHARLIE?!"

Anyone who visited Freddy's during summer or any time of the year being tourists or vacationers - from ch.6 of "I don't get paid enough for this" by IncredibleUsername.

And now we come to the introduction of Charlie/Marionette. :D And now the fun begins - the real plot of the tale. R and R!